Quōs Amor Vērus Tenuit, Tenēbit
by WomanWarrior
Summary: Harry, Ron, and Hermione are leaving for the Horcrux hunt. This is the story of their goodbyes. Oneshot. Minimal angsty HG.


_Disclaimer: 98 of this is not mine. Of course, Harry Potter & friends belong to the wonderful JKR. Without her… Also, many of the Latin phrases aren't mine - they're Ovid's, Seneca's, etc. I am not a famous Latin philosopher, nor do I have the knowledge of Latin needed to say these things. Not yet, at least._

_Author's Note: This is the first of what I hope is many H/G 'one-shots' - together, they will weave a story, but they may be enjoyed alone as well. Each chapter is titled in Latin; the story's title means "I love, you love." The title of this chapter means "those whom true love has held, it will go on holding."_

_**Quōs Amor Vērus Tenuit, Tenēbit**_

He'd told me that he would come back. That was one of the many things that he was good at. "I'll come back, Ginny," he'd whispered. Between them, he, Ron, and Hermione had two trunks and a tent. Ron was getting a combination crushing hug and lecture about Merlin only knows what from Mum. She was crying, soaking the front of his T-shirt with her tears. Hermione was standing solemnly off to the side. Harry continued.

"I'll come back, Gin. No matter what it takes, I'm going to come back… to you. I'm going to bring back Ron and Hermione, too."

A tear streaked down my cheek. "Harry James Potter, I'm going to hold you to that promise. Whatever we are or are not right now, I want you to come back."

Something must have overtaken him at that moment, because he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. It wasn't anything more than a friendly gesture - we'd certainly done much more when we were dating - but to me, then, it meant everything. It was promise. Right now, I couldn't expect anything more. I certainly wanted more, but Harry had nothing more to give.

He was leaving everything behind - comfort, many of his friends, the only family he'd ever really known - running off like our patron St. George into the dragon's lair. He'd told me about the prophecy near the end of last term, so I understood why he felt that he needed to go.

I wrapped my arms around him too - it was a completely reflex motion - and snuggled closer. Looking up into his eyes, I could see a single tear quivering on the corner. As it fell, I stretched up on my toes, gently pressing my lips to his cheek over the droplet. "Come back to me, Harry," I whispered.

"I will," he replied. "I promise, Ginny, that I'll come back to you somehow."

At this, we pulled apart, my cheeks slightly reddened by the length of our goodbyes. Apparently we were not alone in our need to touch - Dad was holding Mum as she cried. Ron and Hermione stood in the corner created by the stairs, holding each other and apparently - kissing? Although I had seen the signs, just like everyone else, I was shocked. When had they progressed from daily fights to snogging in front of family?

I yawned widely - it was only four AM. Harry had insisted on an early start; not knowing how early "early" was, I'd gotten up at three. I had not been alone, either; my mum and I shared a pot of tea.

Harry cleared his throat. Ron and Hermione jumped apart, looking mortified. "We'd better… leave now. I think it's best to get an early start."

"Right," replied Ron, giving Dad a last, one-armed hug. Mum started to strangle him and soak his shirt again before Dad pulled her away, back into his own arms. As he whispered something soothing, she seemed to settle down enough to hug Hermione, and finally Harry.

"Stay safe, Harry," Dad urged. "Write us and let us know how things are going."

"I will, sir," Harry replied. "I won't be able to use Hedwig, though - she's too distinctive."

"Yes. Now, go. The sun will rise soon."

With that, the three slipped out the door and were swallowed into the fog.

-----

A few days later, my mum had set me to peeling potatoes. Bill and Fleur were coming over later that night, and she was making a roast with vegetables. It was only noon, and she was already a cyclone, attempting to clean the house, cook dinner, and who knows what else. I tried to remind her that it was her own son and daughter-in-law - they wouldn't care if the floors had a little dirt on them.

I picked up the next potato off the stack; six down, ten to go. Why did she always have to make everything in such giant proportions? But it was Mum, and if I complained, it would only result in more work for me.

Setting in on my seventh potato, I heard a tapping on the window. I opened it the tiniest amount, hoping that the rain would stay outside. An owl I'd never seen before, a medium-sized Tawny, flew in. He was gorgeous, but the scrawl on the outside of the piece of parchment was even more so.

Anxiously, I opened it, smoothing it over a clean spot of counter.

_Dear Ginny,_ I read.

_We think we're on the trail of the locket. Right now, of course, we can't be sure. Tell your mum not to worry. We're all fine. It's not safe right now to write any more. Stay safe._

_Harry_

Even those few words on the small piece of parchment gave me hope. They'd obviously made a start in the few days that they'd been gone; maybe there was hope of getting the war and apocalyptic battle over with in the next year. I stared out the window, watching the raindrops trace patterns as the mid-June thunderstorm continued. Bill and Fleur's wedding was only a few short weeks away; Harry hadn't mentioned it. I wondered if they planned to come back, or if they were too busy. The owl pecked me sharply on the wrist, bringing me back to the pile of potatoes and the Burrow's kitchen.

Apparently it wanted a reply. Digging parchment, a quill, and some red ink out of a drawer, I set about writing a reply.

_Dear Harry (and Ron and Hermione too),_

_Hopefully your lead turns into something more. Stay safe yourself, and pass on the message to Ron and Hermione. Will you three be coming back for Bill and Fleur's wedding?_

_Take care,_

_Ginny_

Satisfied that it was only friendly and could not be interpreted as anything more, I folded it, wrote _Harry_ on the outside, and handed it to the owl. After allowing it to fly out the window, I returned to peeling potatoes.

-----

That night, after my brother and his fiancée had finally left - their mushy romance had started to drive me insane - I headed for the solace of my bedroom. Trading my clothes for a comfortable, well-worn pair of pyjamas, I curled up under my old quilt. I took out the letter again, reread the words. They were so impersonal. Had the end of last term really happened? It had only been a few weeks ago that he'd broken up with me; somehow, though, I'd simply let life go on.

And now, here was something concrete. Something Harry had touched; something Harry had written for my eyes. Something that had no feeling in it. There was a chance that the owl would be intercepted by the wrong people, granted. These were bad times, and that could not be denied. But would an "I miss you" be too much to ask? Or "I miss you and your family. Tell everyone I said hello."

The tears finally flowed. I blindly let the paper flutter to the floor, so as to prevent it from becoming soaked. I clutched the bed-sheet in one hand, bawling for everything that was no longer. "I love you, Harry!" I cried, which only sufficed to make the tears flow harder. "Love! Dammit, doesn't that mean something?"

At that moment, it didn't. Not really. He couldn't hear me; even if he could, he would give me five hundred good reasons as to why I couldn't love him, five hundred more as to why he couldn't love me, and several thousand as to why we couldn't be together. I wanted it to mean something, desperately. But we were so far apart.

Somehow, someday, I hoped that there was a chance for us. A single, tiny opening in which I could slip in and make things work was all I needed. It was my lifeline.

_Author's Note: Rīdent stolidī verba Latīna - fools laugh at the Latin language. Ovid. Not me. Blame him for this story._


End file.
